


Bench Trial

by lovingdefiance



Series: Hotel Scenes [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Bathing/Washing, Chair Bondage, Chair Sex, Come Swallowing, Hair Washing, Handcuffs, Interrogation, Love Hotels, M/M, Massage, Nipple Clamps, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 07:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16445510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingdefiance/pseuds/lovingdefiance
Summary: “Okaaay, so good news, it looks like you won’t have to die on Mount Everest.” He clapped his hands together, held them for a moment as if in prayer. “There’s other stuff I want you to do instead.” Oma brandished both wrists with a flourish in front of himself and stared at Saihara with something like challenge in his eyes.Mister Detective uses unconventional methods to procure some very important information.





	1. Bench Trial

**Author's Note:**

> **Bench trial** \- a trial with a judge, but no jury. Also a pun about chair bondage. Get it? **Get it?** **_GET IT_**
> 
> This was meant to be the end of a longer story, but it became too long, so I'll post it as a standalone piece instead. Please note that this is **not** dubcon. Even though it's in the love hotel setting, it is not a fantasy where Oma won't know what's happening. However, if you believe any further tags are needed, or if you happen to notice anything amiss, please let me know.

He would be ready this time, Saihara thought as he prepared for Oma’s arrival. The lock rasped and clicked in the darkness and the door swung open almost silently, Oma creeping into his room without a sound. Saihara flicked on the bedside lamp.

“Ah!” Oma hopped upright, eyes sparkling. “Aw, man. Looks like you caught me sneaking in. For utterly innocent reasons,” he continued. “As an upstanding citizen, I was gonna decorate for a surprise party for my favorite detective, but now-”

“I know you’ve been stealing my things,” Saihara sighed. “We’ve been over it before, and we’ll probably have to go over it again. But I think I know why, and...I know why you’re here.”

“What are you saying I did?” Oma strutted into the room to lean dramatically on the table, planting his hand exactly where the Upbeat Humidifier had been. “I can’t believe you’re casting aspersions on me like this so shamelessly in the middle of my good deed-”

“Ah...we really do have to go over it again? Okay. You stole my things,” he said. “Then, you...replaced them with nearly identical things.” The worst offense had been the replacement of his new toothbrush with another new toothbrush of a different color, the replacement of his bath mat with a similarly-colored towel, the replacement of his towel with a differently-colored towel and the replacement of his bar of soap with a overpoweringly jasmine-scented one from the warehouse, turning his morning routine into a vaguely irritating spot-the-difference game straight out of _Gaslight_.

Oma sat back and smirked in evident pride. “Why would anyone do thaaaat? Sounds dumb. But that’s a lie, I confess…” Saihara shot a look at him. “I confess it sounds like a _great idea_!” His devious smirk widened into something angelic and pure, his eyes sparkling. “I should be taking notes.”

“And now you’ve really stolen something, and I want it back. It was a present from Akamatsu-san.”

Oma smiled, perching on the table and curling his hands over the side, kicking his legs idly. “What present? I can’t believe Saihara-chan is continuing to slander me like this.” He tilted his head charmingly. “I’m not bothered, but that’s a lie. I’m totally offended. Normally I’d have to send you off to brave Mount Everest to win back my favor, but…”

Saihara took a deep breath as Oma rambled, reaching beneath the pillow to grip the chain he knew was there. “I know you did it,” he said valiantly, “and this time, I’m going to make sure you face justice.”

“At least sixty-eight people have died on various mountains striving to earn my favor, and even more have died from exposure to the elements trying to win my heart, but I like Saihara-chan _so_ much, I’ll probably just make you…” Oma, blithely ignoring him, trailed off halfway through his speech as Saihara produced a pair of wrist cuffs from under the pillow and stood up from the bed. “Okaaay, so good news, it looks like you won’t have to die on Mount Everest.” He clapped his hands together, held them for a moment as if in prayer. “There’s other stuff I want you to do instead.” Oma brandished both wrists with a flourish in front of himself and stared at Saihara with something like challenge in his eyes.

“Um...thanks for cooperating.” He cringed a bit at the sound of his own nervous voice. “I’ll see what I can do about...reducing your sentence?” He winced harder. Oma, a smile creeping back to his face, continued to quietly offer up his arms. Saihara slipped the padded cuffs around his wrists with no resistance, tightening the buckles just enough that he could slide two fingers in alongside each arm.

The soft violet pads inside the leather barely pressed against Oma’s skin, the few links between the cuffs enough to let Oma touch and hold things in his hands if he wanted, but there was no question that with his arms bound together he looked smaller - thin shoulders drawn inward, chest back. He twisted his hands in the restraints, pulled at the chain and struggled as though testing it. The links offered no space to twist his hands back and reach the buckles.

Saihara froze for a moment, watching Oma’s smile widen into an eager grin when his hands stayed trapped. He wondered if he would be so straightforward the whole time, doubted it sincerely. Oma could easily react with anything from laughter to tears to fury. He was choosing to make his appreciation clear. He could be doing it for himself, or to coax Saihara into doing a better job, or maybe…

Maybe Oma was reassuring him. He took a deep breath and centered himself. It wasn’t possible to know, but it was nice to think about.

“Well, well. Not too tight, but I can’t slip it. Looks like you’ve really caught me this time!” Oma smiled slyly as he hopped up from the table, standing with one hip cocked as though he had nothing to worry about. “These are so comfy, you could keep me in them for aaaages. Wonder how I’m gonna get out of this one?”

“You won’t get out,” Saihara said, trying to sound confident and conveying, somehow, an unpleasantly open threat. He winced again. “Um, I mean you’re coming with me.”

* * *

Thankfully, Saihara saw no one on the furtive trek toward the casino. Oma’s long white sleeves concealed the cuffs themselves, but no one with hearing could ignore Oma’s intentional, cheerful jingling of the chain, much less his excitable babble. “Where are you taking me, Mister Detective?” he asked, trotting beside him. “Gonna take me to the casino and use me as a good luck charm? I’m not lucky, though - you want my big brother Daikichi, you must have gotten confused. That’s a lie, by the way! I’m an only child. I was made in a laboratory and raised by the government.”

Saihara let it wash over him, glancing occasionally at the chain dangling below Oma’s sleeves. Each time he spotted the glint of metal he felt a flood of anticipation, excitement pooling low in his belly - he had really captured Oma, was taking him somewhere for nefarious purposes. Oma moved eagerly beside him, walking just a little bit closer. “By capturing me for yourself, you’ve guaranteed yourself a limited run of luck. Makes sense not to waste it. If you know what I mean...”

“Where do you think we’re going?” Saihara asked neutrally, opening the huge door. The gaudy casino glimmered in the deepening dusk, but not half so much as the hideous, flashy love hotel.

“Well, if you’re relying on my luck, you’re in for a bad time. But if you’re relying on getting lucky with me…” Oma shrugged, happily jingling, and offered a saucy wink.

Saihara, for just a moment, considered informing Oma that he could just ask to go to the hotel. It would be almost comforting to hear that. He was stopped by the realization that Oma’s line had been pretty charming and about as straightforward as possible, so what else could Saihara expect?

“I wanna go to the hotel so you can fuck me!” Oma informed him as he wandered, lost in thought, toward the fork in the road.

“What!?”

“Oh, like you’re shocked.” Oma waved his bound hands, clinking and jangling. “Who could have imagined _that’s_ where this was going!? Wow, what a twist!”

“You just… _said_ it,” Saihara protested, waving his own hands ineffectually in response for no reason he could explain. “Out loud.”

“Sorry I’m not dancing around the issue! Man. Saihara-chan’s neeeever satisfied.” He raised his hands as though to fold them behind his head and paused, looking at the chain, before lowering them to his waist again. “But if you just wanted that, we didn’t have to leave your room. That means you prepared something special. I wanna see, I wanna see!” Saihara nodded resolutely and produced a key from his pocket. “Do those even work on actual doors?”

“Yes. I tried it earlier to make sure,” he explained, opening the hotel door and - feeling daring with Oma’s hands bound together - guided him in with a palm pressed to his lower back.

“Nishishi…” He was sure that he was not imagining the faint pink that appeared on Oma’s pale cheeks, though it could have been the lighting. “And you got everything all ready? Sounds like you set up a surprise party of your own for me.”

“And this one isn’t even a lie.” Oma laughed at the remark, laughed again at the oddly pristine lobby of the hotel, and smiled all the way up the elevator. Saihara watched him with fascination.

“I can’t believe you’d slander me like that. Mister Detective is sooo cruel.” Saihara returned his hand to Oma’s lower back as he guided him to the correct door, slid the key into the lock with his other hand.

“I suppose,” he admitted. “Not that it’s slander if it’s true.”

“Good point! So, what am I in for?” Oma asked cheerfully, letting Saihara push him into the room.

“I’m just going to...ask you some questions,” Saihara murmured. The door swung closed and locked behind him with a satisfying click. “Please sit down.”

“Ah...” Tacky decor aside, Oma’s eyes went round at the sight of the hard plastic toy attached to the seat of the chair set up at the center of the room. The thick bud of it stood upright and gleaming from the broad, flat base. It was the stupidest-looking plug Saihara had seen that was safe for this sort of play; bright, neon pink, curved gently forward to press into him from inside. Its hideous, unrealistic tackiness had struck him as perfect for the situation. He could somehow see Oma brandishing it like a tiny sword. _Choose this one, Saihara-chan!_

In reality, it seemed for the first time as though Oma might not follow up with any kind of clever remark. Saihara quailed anxiously at the silence. “Is that enough for you?” he asked, sounding him out. He was careful not to add an _already_ \- if Oma felt uncomfortable, he wanted to know, not challenge him to go through with it. “Are you ready to talk?”

Oma shook his head with a dismissive snort, a smile reappearing on his lips. “Nishishi, didja think something like this was gonna shake me, copper? I have at least a dozen exactly like that back at my secret base. At least I know you have great taste.” He dodged out of Saihara’s grip and walked around the chair himself with an exaggeratedly casual gait, leaning down and resting his chest on the chair’s back to stare down at the thing. His hips jutted out, presenting the shallow curve of his ass. “Do your worst, Mister Detective.” Saihara swallowed hard and followed him, reaching around him to unbutton his pants and jerk them down from the narrow crests of his hips. “Nnf, playing rough with me?”

“Until I get more information,” he said a little distractedly, letting the pants and boxers fall - Oma cooperated enough to step out, kicking all of it carelessly to the side - and producing a bottle of lube from his own pocket. “Have to make sure you won’t be going anywhere.” He bit his lip, glad that Oma was facing away and unable to see the furious blush that suffused his face at the embarrassment of saying it. At least it seemed to be working - Oma’s cock hung flushed and heavy between his slim, parted thighs, and at the first press of a lubed finger into him he let out a satisfied little sigh, pressing back despite his tied hands to welcome Saihara in. “Are you meant to be this obvious about enjoying it?”

“Oh - forgive me, ah, I’ll confess...I’ve always thought about Mister Detective doing this to my body. It’s a dream come true. Mm, that’s...the honest truth…” He wriggled eagerly at the addition of a second finger, half-stifling a laugh at the third, and Saihara found himself grateful that Oma seemed both relaxed and willing to do the bulk of the roleplay. “But oh, I’m totally scared about what you’re gonna do to me next. Don’t you believe me? All you’re letting me do is look down at it…” He trembled at the steady massage of the fingers inside him. “A-ah...I don’t think it’s gonna fit inside.”

“I’m sure it’s-!” he began, then reconsidered enough to play along. “I, um. I guess I’ll just have to...make it work one way or another.” Oma shivered, muscles clenching tight around the steady pump and stretch of his fingers. It seemed unreal that anything he said or did could provoke that effect. He took a deep, steadying breath and reached around with his other hand to grope roughly at Oma’s dick, rewarded by another tight clench of muscle around his probing digits. “Feels like you _want_ that.”

“So you’re rewarding me?” he asked, arching his back a little further. Saihara stared at his own fingers vanishing again and again into the slick, relaxed stretch of Oma’s body, the pale curve of his back trembling at the steady stimulation. “I don’t see where my motivation is to tell you _anything_ , if this is your idea of torture.”

“Hmm.” He urged Oma up, careful not to pull his shoulders at a painful angle, and unwound the long scarf from around his neck. He wiped his lubed fingers on it as Oma gasped dramatically and glared at him.

“How could you? Now it’s gonna be all slippery,” he whined. Saihara dropped the scarf to the floor.

“ _That's_ what you're worried about!?” he asked, escorting Oma around the chair with a hand on his lower back. Oma looked up at him, expression somewhere between roguishly defiant and turned-on. “Have a seat,” he said formally, then reached around and spread him open. Like it was a normal thing to do, he reminded himself, struggling not to blush or stammer uncontrollably. Oma stayed mercifully quiet as he looped his bound hands around Saihara’s neck to brace himself and sat down gingerly, allowing Saihara to help the plug press in. He tilted his head back, a low, choked moan escaping him as the tip penetrated and he worked his way down the taper of it, cuffs jingling softly.

Leaning down to keep him spread, Saihara’s face was inches from Oma’s, close enough to feel the breath from his parted lips as the plug entered him. He had no idea what expression he himself was wearing as he watched Oma take it. “Ah - _aaah_ ,” he gasped, his exhalation almost anguished as the widest part of the flare sank into him. “Aaahn! S-so cruel, Mister Detective,” he breathed, looking up at Saihara. Tears beaded at the corners of his eyes; his mouth hung slightly open, his gaze unfocused. “I-it’s so big, I can’t…”

“It feels good, right?” he asked. Oma blinked the tears away and smiled.

“That’s impressive,” he whispered. “Reading me like that. You really took the time to understand me, didn’t you?” He raised his hands to release Saihara, leaning up to give him a brief kiss. “But I’m still not going to tell you aaaanything.”

“We’ll see, I guess. Why don’t we start with what you stole?” His hand rummaged in his pocket and emerged holding a flexible rubber ring, which he stretched and slipped down the length of Oma’s cock. It rested snugly at the base; Oma squirmed at the unfamiliar pressure, twitching at the unforgiving press of the toy inside him. “Does that feel tight?” Oma shook his head, biting his lip as Saihara stroked him. “Tell me if you feel numb or cold anywhere, or if it hurts.”

“Y...yeah...” The faint blush splashed across his cheeks had spread in delicate patches down his throat, vivid against his pale flesh. Saihara, still bent low over him to unhook the clasps of his uniform, looked at him in a trance. “What’s the matter with you? Going soft on me?”

“No!” Saihara protested, oddly defensive as he worked on the buttons.

“And if I don’t talk, you’ll...what? Keep making me feel good?”

“...Maybe,” he conceded, shooting for an air of mystery and intrigue and coming off sheepish as he pulled the uniform top open, pushed it back on his shoulders to expose his petite frame. There was something about the rumpled, pulled-back clothes that made Oma seem more exposed than if he were just naked; Saihara stopped to stare at him. Oma went silent, staring up at him, then grinned.

“Looks like Mister Detective is enjoying this too,” he observed, gaze moving down. “I bet there’s something you want more from me than a little information.” He licked his lips, moving his hips subtly back and forth.

“That’s wrong,” lied Saihara, feeling himself throb at the glimpse of soft, pink tongue. “I _do_ want information. N-now that you’re not going anywhere...” He moved as he spoke, reaching out to hold the chain between Oma’s wrists and working at the buckle of one cuff. “Where’s your hideout? Who are you working with?” Oma looked mildly confused about being untied, but cooperated as the cuffs were removed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Saihara pulled Oma’s wrists behind him, kneeling behind the chair and reaching up under the seat to detach the second set of cuffs, held there by medical tape. Unseen by Oma, the links between the cuffs were separated by a small but easily removed carabiner; he could free Oma's hands in less than a minute if needed.

“Yes. I would. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

“Well, won’t you feel stupid if the loot’s hidden inside me?” Oma asked as his hands were recuffed with the new set, the short chain looped around a crossbar of the chair back. If he wondered why both hands had been unbound, he said nothing about it. With a little luck, he would chalk it up to Saihara’s inexperience. “Considering how much you fingered me, it’s probably waaay up in my guts by now, and now that you shoved this huge plug in me you’ll never, ever see it again.”

“Um...no, that’s gross. Also, it’s impossible, I’m almost sure.” Saihara winced. “Besides, I’d definitely have felt it.” Walking back around the chair, he reached into his pocket again and fiddled with something as Oma watched in curiosity.

“Aah-!” He stiffened as the plug buzzed to life inside him, then leveled an unsteady grin of challenge at Saihara. “R-rewarding me some more, huh?” His voice had cracked, Saihara thought, just a little bit - his lips were parted and a faint dew of perspiration had broken out high on his brow. He looked good like that, arms pinned behind him, his small chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. If it was for the sake of seeing him like that, making him feel that way, Saihara was certain he could feign confidence for at least a little while.

“Let’s start small, then. Where’d you steal it from? What’s it look like?” Oma stayed quiet, tilting his head forward and visibly relaxing. Saihara knelt before the chair and pulled a roll of medical tape from his blazer pocket, securing one of his legs to a chair leg and then moving to the other. “Fine, then I’ll start. You stole my humidifier, right?”

“That’s a pretty boring target for a renowned phantom thief. I’m pretty sure you got the wrong guy!” Oma, thankfully, did not take the clear opportunity to kick Saihara in the head. Saihara cranked the vibration up the slightest bit in gratitude, not moving from his vantage point, watching Oma shiver and squirm as well as he could without leverage. “Ahhh, and I’ll never, _ever_ tell you where it is.”

“So you did take it, huh?“ He reached up and roughly tweaked a nipple.

“Ouchie! Ruuude,” Oma scolded.

“ _This_ is the part you think is rude!?” He leaned forward to kiss it.

“What, you’re gonna just wimp out and be nice to me because I said _ouchie_?” Saihara smiled and took it into his mouth, sucking lazily and stroking the other one with his thumb to feel it harden. “Mm, you’re meant to...to get rough with me. Put on the nipple clamps and slap me around a little, y’know?”

“Well, you did confess that you stole it. I...appreciate your cooperation, I guess?” He drew back to look at Oma’s face, the increasingly deep flush of red across his cheeks paired with an incongruous expression of disdain, and turned down the vibration. “You could make it easy on yourself if you just tell me where it is. Then we don’t even need the clamps.”

“Nishishi. Not on your life.” Oma grinned imperiously and lifted his chin, eyes narrowing. “Y’know, you look good down there, detective. Once I’ve turned the tables on you, I’ll keep you just like this. At the foot of my throne, on your knees, where you belong. _With dry sinuses!_ ”

“Are you a phantom thief or an evil overlord?” he asked, smiling despite himself and wondering, for the millionth time, how Oma could casually say that kind of thing like it was normal.

“Phantom thieves can have thrones if they wanna,” Oma contested. "I just gotta steal one first." Trying to ignore the insistent throbbing of his own dick as well as the inconsistent roleplay, Saihara cranked up the vibration abruptly and leaned down to take Oma’s cock into his mouth. Oma cried out, a high, startled, impossibly gratifying sound, and went rigid as Saihara licked and sucked teasingly at the tip.

“Ah…” He wriggled as though trying to push forward and moaned as the vibration escalated again like a reward. Saihara took him deeper and felt his cock twitch, the long muscles of his thighs spasming. He felt physically hot, his dick trapped and swollen by the ring, the delicate veins of it standing out against Saihara’s tongue as he sank down on it with increasing tempo. Oma panted harshly, squirming and gasping. He could, he realized with a dizzying rush of blood to his brain, _feel_ the rough vibration inside Oma, buzzing in the chair and in his flesh; he throbbed at the concept, moaning around the cock in his mouth as Oma cried out in warning.

Saihara pulled back, dialing down the vibration to a low buzz. “Excuse me?” he asked politely, catching his breath and struggling to ignore the insistent pulsing between his legs. The room suddenly felt cold, the air silent. “Were you about to tell me something useful?”

Oma released a long, quivering exhalation, visibly trembling. “Aaaah, haa, yeah. I definitely wasn’t about to come, like, embarrassingly fast. Nothing like that.” His entire body twitched at even the lower vibration setting, his lips pulling into a rigid and slightly terrifying grin. “Just wanted to tell you it’s not _that_ great. I’ve been sexually accosted by waaay better detectives.”

“Oh...” He reached into his other blazer pocket and extracted something, concealing it in his palm as he knelt and leaned forward to return to Oma’s nipples. “I’ll try harder.”

“Mm-” Oma pressed himself against the back of the chair as though avoiding it, but aside from his increasingly anxious squirming he did nothing to twist aside as Saihara teased the hardened buds with his fingers and lips. He tasted clean, smelled faintly of soap despite the faint sheen of sweat breaking out across his body.

“Does it feel better this time?”

“Mm-mm,” Oma answered after a pause. “Boring...” Saihara’s hand lowered to his cock and wrapped softly around it, thumb clicking the switch on the small, thin vibrator concealed in his palm. “ _Ah!_ ” Oma shuddered and pressed himself against the back of the chair harder, biting his lip as Saihara nestled it up against the underside of his dick and held them together in his hand. He _was_ hot, hard and swollen and dusky in a way that looked almost painful, and Saihara could tell by his twitchy, brief efforts to pull away that the extra sensitivity was on the edge of being too much for him.

“How about now?” he asked politely. Oma moaned and trembled, his eyes half-closed and glistening wetly. The muscles of his abdomen looked taut - his legs were tense enough to quiver and began shaking outright when Saihara clicked the remote in his other pocket up a notch. Oma said nothing, but his cock jerked and he let his head fall back to expose the pretty column of his throat as he tilted his hips back, pressing the curve of the plug harder into himself. Saihara turned up the small vibrator a little higher and rubbed it against him, back and forth beneath the head of his dick, and watched. Steady, controlled.

Oma’s head lolled to the side and he trembled helplessly, breath coming in shallow, harsh gasps, but it was clear that he had caught on - he said nothing to warn Saihara as he chased orgasm. Saihara stared at the rhythmic flexing of his abdominal muscles and the rapid clench of his thighs as he struggled toward it, the way his breath caught and his body began to spasm, and the way he slumped forward when Saihara turned the plug back down to a low buzz and sat back.

Oma sat up in the chair, sweat beading on his forehead, and took a ragged breath. “I wasn’t saying anything this time.”

“Somehow, I had the feeling you wanted to say something?” murmured Saihara, intensely gratified to watch Oma taking a moment to regain his composure. “I’m listening.”

Oma’s lips curved in a wavering smile. “Do you feel like you’re serving me right now? Is that part of it for you?”

“ _Ahem_.” Saihara leveled a serious stare at him, looking as authoritative as he possibly could. “ _I’ll_ ask the questions here.” Oma’s smile broke into an unsteady grin and then a shaking whinny of laughter, trailing off into a choked groan as Saihara slid the tip of the vibrator up his length. His mouth fell open. “How many more times can we do this?”

Saihara had tried it himself, preparing to do it to Oma. He had reached four attempts at edging himself before giving in, but Oma’s eyes flashed stubbornly as he squirmed in discomfort at the overstimulation. “Who knows? Figure it out,” he said, then gritted his teeth to stifle a noise as the tip of the vibrator ascended his abdomen to circle one nipple.

Saihara wondered if he would come out with any information in the end. There was only so long he could safely leave the ring on. “You know you can make all this stop,” he reminded Oma, reaching into the pocket of his own pants and touching the next item. Oma, teeth still gritted, leveled a fierce glare at him. Saihara nodded and continued patiently teasing at his chest. “Does it feel better this time?” 

“Mm-mm,” he answered diffidently, not opening his mouth. Saihara pulled the tip of the vibrator back and presented the clamp in his other hand, opening and closing the rubbery tip of it without letting it fasten completely around the delicate peak of one nipple. Oma stared down at it, his eyebrows drawn low as his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths that seemed almost scared.

“You’re still not going to tell me anything?” Oma, mouth resolutely closed, shook his head and watched wide-eyed as it closed on vulnerable flesh.

“ _Mmmmnnn_!” he cried out in a ragged, breathless voice, threw his head back as the second clamp was applied and let out a second, muffled scream through his teeth. Saihara waited for a moment, watching him shake and bite back his noises before gently twisting one clamp.

It _did_ things to Saihara, the way Oma whimpered and squirmed back like he wanted to avoid it. Nervous and half-hard, he had picked up the clamps on impulse, but only when Oma himself had mentioned the idea did he think it might be acceptable to bring them out. It was, he realized in dawning excitement, a good choice - as much as Oma’s eyebrows were drawn low in pain there was something in his expression, the corners of his mouth curled up in a stubborn, quivering little smile, the way his gaze flicked defiantly up to meet Saihara’s when the other clamp was twisted. He liked it, Saihara thought, he really was enjoying himself. With a shuddering exhalation Saihara reached down to palm himself through his pants.

“You look incredible,” he said impulsively. “And you’re tough to crack,” he corrected, glad to see a fleeting expression of pride in response to the praise. He took a moment to look at the whole panorama, the black clamps standing out against Oma’s pale skin and the irritated, purplish shade of his pinched flesh, his cock swollen and so tender that even a gentle press of the vibrator made him shake. “Well?”

“This is nothing,” Oma said in a low, shaky voice, shuddering as the plug inside him vibrated in a new pattern of steady and increasing waves. “Did you think that would break me?” He let out a harsh breath, took a quivering inhalation, and rocked back and forth as much as he could with his legs bound.

Saihara fiddled with the clamps, smiling gently at the bowstring tension in Oma’s body as he braced himself for their removal. “No. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get you to talk at all.” He reached down to stroke Oma’s trapped cock instead, rolling the skin back from the sensitive head and rubbing his thumb softly under the tip.

“I didn’t know you liked this kind of thing, Mister Detective.” He ground his body down on the plug, leaning forward as though asking for a kiss as he writhed lithely in the chair. “You always seem - nnh - so… _upright._ ” He glanced down at Saihara, a stiff grin appearing on his face. “Y’know, upstanding. A real pillar of the community. _Erect._ ”

“Yeah, I get it.” It was, he thought, impressive that Oma could maintain enough self-control to keep up his routine, considering the circumstances.

“Maybe I don’t get it. Maybe I’m confused! Tell me.” His lips parted as the vibrator glided up his length again, as Saihara held it level beneath the head of his dick and wrapped his hand around them both. “You like seeing me like this? Wanna put it in my mouth?”

“No,” Saihara lied transparently. “I’m not going to let you win that easily.” As expected, he saw Oma’s expression light up, something fierce in his eyes as he rocked into the hand wrapped around his cock. Saihara pulled his hand back and glanced at the ring around the base of Oma’s dick, considering it for a moment before reaching beneath the chair to produce a pair of blunt-ended medical scissors that had been taped beneath the seat alongside the cuffs. “I’m going to take that off, though.”

“Hmm? I can still feel everything.”

“I...I’d hope so.” He cautiously slipped the blunt tip beneath the rubber ring and snipped it apart, letting it fall away. Oma opened his mouth to remark on it and let out a hoarse cry instead as the vibration inside him escalated, steady rolling waves that went on and on. Saihara stood up and wrapped his hands around Oma’s thin shoulders, rocking him back on the plug again and again and feeling his body tremble even without a hand on his dick, working its way up to a shudder that wracked his entire frame. “Does that feel good?”

“It’s…” He shook again, from his shoulders down to his legs, pressing his shoulders into Saihara’s hands as though asking to be rocked harder. “N-not that great,” he panted, his eyes wide as though seeing something incredible.

“It looks like it feels good,” Saihara observed, going along with his motion, working his body steadily back and forth on the toy.

“Sai - _ah, haaa_ \- I’m, it’s-” He shook his head, his eyes glossy, utterly carried away. His incoherency left Saihara lightheaded with triumph. “Ah, it’s good…”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning it slightly down.

“Ah, no, wait, no, it’s - it’s in your room!” Oma confessed breathlessly, rocking forward to make Saihara push him back again. “It’s there, it’s-!”

“Where?” he asked, turning it back up. “That’s not very specific.” Oma shook his head and squirmed, letting his head loll to the side. His expression was almost anguished, his mouth falling open as his chest heaved with harsh breaths. “Is it true?”

“Yeah! I promise,” he said in a voice almost like a sob, eyes half-lidded and glossy with desperation. “Gimme more…”

“Where is it?” Saihara pressed, reaching down and rubbing the tip of the vibrator under the head of his cock, seizing it with his other hand and holding it upright. Oma’s lips parted on a hoarse shriek as he spasmed back in the chair and went stiff, spurting in messy streaks up his own belly.

“Oh,” he sighed, going limp in the seat as Saihara cranked the vibration down. “Ahhhh, _wow._ And now I guess I’ll be going,” he concluded in a breathy, trembling voice, playing up the smugness to an astonishing degree for someone streaked with come and tied to a chair. Saihara stared at him in amazement, then collected himself.

“Oh?” He smiled politely, touching the tender, sensitized tip of Oma’s dick. “Was someone coming to rescue you?”

“Probably. Anyway, what if I feel like I’m pretty much done?” He squirmed at the touch. “Where’s my incentive to talk now, huh?”

“You won’t have to know if you just tell me where, in my room, you put the humidifier,” Saihara suggested. Oma shrugged and glanced around the gaudy room as though already planning his escape. “Or else,” he said, trying to sound imposing.

“Or else _what_?” Oma asked, brightening with curiosity. Saihara held up the small vibrator and clicked it on, letting its buzz fill the silence. “Whoa. You wouldn’t.” He squirmed back in the chair, eyes wide. “No way, Saihara-chan. You wouldn’t torture my poor dick after I just came, would you? You didn’t make me come like that _on purpose_ , did you?” Despite his knowing tone, his expression seemed anxious - his whole body had gone tense with anticipation, almost quivering. “Saihara-chan isn’t...Mister Detective isn’t mean enough for that.” Saihara held the tip of the vibe directly beneath the tip of his cock, close enough that he writhed back against the chair to escape it. “You seriously wouldn’t!” he wailed in a surprisingly genuine voice.

Saihara immediately pulled it back an inch, giving him space. “Or else,” he prompted gently. He waited for Oma to call it off if he needed, watched in fascination as his eyes went fierce and bright with defiance.

“I don’t know what else you waa _aant_ -!” Oma began before the press of the vibe against him drew another hoarse scream from his mouth, his body writhing almost uncontrollably. The chain binding his hands jingled with the force of it. Saihara held it against his sensitized cock and let him spasm against the chair, legs pulling at the restricting tape, everything about his gritted teeth and desperate eyes screaming _overwhelmed_.

“I want to know where it is in my room.” He pulled away the vibrator and teased at a clamp instead. “Or else.”

Oma moaned in response, the perspiration on his brow now actual sweat. His hair hung in lank tendrils around his face. “Nnnnever,” he slurred. Saihara brushed a limp tendril of hair back, tucked it behind his ear, then pulled off one of the clamps with a casual motion. Oma shrieked, throwing his head back at the sudden agony of blood rushing back to the pinched flesh. He writhed at the removal of the second one, a strange, sobbing groan escaping his mouth.

“You can find it yourself,” he panted, “with that information, you’re just - you’re just doing this to me for no reason now-”

“I’m…” Saihara paused, unsure how to express it. The sight of Oma slumped in the chair, his small chest heaving and lightly bruised, made him feel raw and open inside. “Are you still enjoying this?” Oma glanced up at him with something like a wavering smile.

“Being punished?” He squirmed as Saihara touched his chest with one empty hand, pressing gently to lessen the pain.

“No, that’s not...um...” He withdrew his hand, palmed himself nervously through his pants as Oma watched. He ached, a throbbing pulse through his length. “I’m doing this for you,” he said all at once, gripping himself through the thin layer of fabric.

“Huh…” Despite his obvious exhaustion, he sounded fascinated again, eyes already bright. His toughness, Saihara thought, was probably incredible. “Hey, how about instead of chatting or you torturing my poor dick again, you just let me get you off and we’ll call it even?” He leaned forward as far as possible, arms still chained behind him.

“You want to do that?” Saihara hesitated before reaching down and unzipping his pants, shuffling them down enough to pull himself free. “Ah…”

“Ohhhh,” Oma sighed, and to his surprise Saihara found himself the subject of a look that was almost worshipful. “I’ve always imagined what Mister Detective’s cock would be like. It’s so much _more_ than I expected…”

Saihara, too embarrassed and lightheaded to come up with a clever reply, bit back an urge to tell him he had seen it before. “Do you...want to get a closer look?” Oma glanced up at him almost fondly.

“I’m a thief by trade, Mister Detective. I wanna _take_ it.”

“Oh…” He shuffled forward, amazed to watch Oma craning forward like he was hungry for the chance, lips parting for him. He swallowed Saihara eagerly, eyes closing in satisfaction for a moment as though he really had taken something of value. Something important. “Oma-kun,” he gasped, closing his eyes against the feeling of the mouth closing tight around him, tongue pressing hard and slick and warm against his cock as Oma worked steadily back and forth, chain jingling softly against the chair.

The temptation of the inviting, wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, the urge to push deeper something like a physical force, but Saihara stood back to allow Oma room to set the pace and pull away if needed. With his hands tied, Oma had no real control over the situation otherwise. The thought of Oma submitting that way made Saihara’s cock twitch, an electric feeling rolling hotly through his belly; he stroked the unruly tendrils of Oma’s hair, rubbing at his scalp through the soft violet strands.

“It’s good,” he murmured, legs weakening as Oma worked him relentlessly. He had ignored his own desire so long that the feeling of Oma’s hot, wet mouth on him was a revelation, the upward glance of Oma’s eyes into his own like a religious experience. The feeling built embarrassingly fast and he realized that it would take no time at all for Oma to finish him. “It’s so good,” he breathed, too excited to feel ashamed. “I’m already, Oma-kun, I can't…”

Oma pulled back with one last, leisurely suck at his tip, smirking up at him and licking his lips with a soft pink tongue. “How’s it feel?” he asked cockily. “Want me to do it a couple more times and not let you get off?” Saihara gaped at him.

“What?”

“I’m asking how _you_ like it, Mister Detective.” He offered a crooked grin. “Want me to do it again and stop juuuust in time?” Saihara stared at him, fingers twitching. It was as though Oma was intentionally needling him, but in his position it would make no sense. Unless…

“What if...I don’t let you?” he asked, sounding him out. Oma grinned; Saihara’s head spun, his thoughts going disconnected and feverish for a moment.

“I can’t believe Mister Detective would even imagine doing that to me!” he exclaimed in mock horror, licking his lips again as though he had noticed the effect it had. Saihara stepped forward, stroking his hair, tucking a long strand of it behind his ear. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“If you pull the chain against the chair, I’ll stop right away.” Oma yanked the chain against the crossbar with a sharp clank, staring up at him.

“Got it. You gonna show me?” Saihara curled his fingers into the soft waves of his hair, not yanking but holding it firmly.

“Open your mouth, plea-” He cut himself off before it became a polite request, tugging experimentally. Oma’s eyelids fluttered at the slight pull; he tilted his head back, lips parting on a quiet breath. If he had felt eager before, it was nothing like the way he felt when Saihara stepped forward and pushed into his open mouth. He leaned forward despite the proximity as though trying to get as much as he could, moaning at the involuntary clench of fingers in his hair to keep his head still against the shallow thrusts.

Saihara shuddered at the sensation of each moan, the delicate vibration of Oma’s throat and the slick heat of his mouth, but moved his hips carefully. It was one thing to handle Oma a certain way if he liked it, pulling a handful of hair close to his scalp, holding him still and using him like that. It would be another to abuse his trust by making him sick. Oma himself seemed unconcerned, his eyes glazed in obvious bliss as he hungrily sucked every time Saihara pulled back. Like he was trying to pull it back in, Saihara thought. Like he wanted it that much. The idea left him weak.

“It’s incredible,” he breathed. It would make sense to quip about how Oma could tell him nothing like this, but he looked down to see himself disappearing into that soft mouth and let out a shaky whimper instead. There was no way to stay coherent; Oma’s tongue moved against him in a hard undulation and he groaned, eyes slipping closed. The feeling built too fast again, his body shaking with the intensity of even careful thrusts. “Oma-kun, can I...?”

“ _Mmmmm_!” he moaned emphatically. The chain hung silently against the crossbar of the chair and he pushed himself just a little faster, harder, clutching tight enough that he wondered if Oma’s head would hurt in the brief moment before he doubled over as though punched. He came with a shaky cry, trembling at the waves of electricity coursing through him, the sensation of Oma swallowing again and again like he was trying to milk it all out of his body. He stood on trembling knees and loosened his grip, rubbing gently at the scalp beneath his fingers.

“Thank you,” he whispered, too overwhelmed to imagine playing a character. Oma lightly sucked along his length and swallowed again. He expected Oma to beam up at him and deliver some witty statement and was surprised to see desperation instead, a hot flush of arousal splashed across his face, his cock already half-hard again between his legs.

Saihara smiled a little woozily, stroking his hair, massaging his head in circular motions to soothe the spots that he thought could be sore. “I didn’t actually agree to let you go,” he murmured. Oma stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I thought that would be your next line. Do you even remember?” He reached into his pocket and thumbed at the remote, watching Oma’s body jerk at the sudden stimulation. His cock twitched, hardening fully.

“What?” Oma said intelligently. “I don’t care, I... _more_ …” Saihara stopped for a moment to stare at him; clever, competitive Oma squirming and panting in thoughtless want, all his defiance replaced with a blank hunger for pleasure. He knelt before the chair and fumbled for the vibrator, pressing it tenderly up against him and making him cry out, shifting against the pressure on his dick and rocking on the plug. “Yeah, just like that,” he breathed, his expression almost feverish.

“Like this?” He pulled away the vibe and wrapped his hand around Oma instead, jerking him a little roughly and watching his head loll forward to watch the motion. “Is that good, Oma-kun? It feels good?”

“It feels good,” Oma echoed, his small frame quaking as though he would come apart.

“I didn’t know that would affect you so much,” Saihara said, looking up at him with something like reverence. Replacing his hand with the vibe made Oma cry out, gritting his teeth against the feeling and squirming helplessly in the chair. Saihara pressed it against him, switching the plug to steady rolling waves, until Oma began to shake in earnest.

His motions were involuntary, disordered, struggling toward and away from the stimulation - his mouth opened as though to say something and clamped shut instead, opened again on a pleading whine. “Is it still good?” Saihara asked quietly. Oma’s expression had gone unfocused, his eyes glossy and feverish, utterly carried away. Saihara stared, half-intoxicated by the vision of Oma not cracking jokes and abandoned to whatever sensations he was given.

“It’s, it’s...S-Saihara-chan, I want-” Oma’s voice had gone raw from crying out, shaky with being driven closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes?” He squeezed him a little harder against the unyielding vibe, rocked him gently on the plug, and let him ride the feeling for a moment before letting him go again. He _wailed_ , twisting in the chair and throwing his head back almost violently.

“ _Really_ wanna come, not lying, I promise I’m not lying!”

Saihara paused at the sight of tears escaping the corners of his eyes, rolling down his flushed, sweaty face, the streaky come glistening on his chest and abdomen. He looked thoroughly taken apart, wrecked in a way Saihara had only vaguely imagined. “Oma-kun, do you need-”

“It’s in the top of the closet,” Oma sobbed, “behind, nngh, behind your stupid ugly hats, Saihara-chan, _please_!” Saihara froze, staring at him. “Please, you win, please just-!”

Saihara reached immediately for the medical scissors to cut through the tape binding each leg, reached around him to click the carabiner open and free his hands. It had been worth it, facing Oma’s sudden break, to prepare to free him efficiently. “Okay,” he said gently, looping one arm around Oma’s small frame and reaching behind him with the other hand to press softly around the plug. Oma whimpered against Saihara’s shoulder as it slipped out, arms wrapping tight around Saihara as he let himself be lifted up on trembling legs.

“C’mon,” he pleaded as Saihara helped him up, “c’mon, _c’mon_ -”

“Okay,” he repeated, stroking his side in a soothing motion as he led him to the bed and lay his shaking body down across the mattress. “Anything you need.” Oma reached up and seized at his shoulders, yanking him gracelessly down and splaying out beneath him.

“Need something inside me,” he panted, cock lying hard against his thigh. Saihara pulled the bottle of lubricant from his pocket and squeezed it over his fingers, reaching down to slide two slick fingers in. Oma’s expression twisted for a moment - soreness, Saihara realized, from having been moved on the hard plug for so long. He gentled the strokes of his fingers, stretching just a little and watching for any other signs of pain.

“Does it hurt?”

“I can take it,” Oma gritted out, “just-!” Saihara nodded and angled his wrist, working his fingers in harder and curling them forward to stroke hard along his inner wall. “Close, I’m close, just, more…”

“Okay,” Saihara soothed, adding a third finger and working it harder into him, feeling the tight stretch of muscle and the slick heat inside. “Oma-kun, can I use my mouth?”

“Yes!” Oma cried, clutching at his head as though to make it happen. Saihara held him with his other hand and lowered himself, taking Oma into his mouth in one motion. Oma writhed, breathing like he had run a mile, and shrieked when Saihara moaned. “I’m, Saihara-chan, I can’t hold on-”

"Come on,” Saihara said, raising his head for a moment before going back down on him and working his fingers furiously in and out, slick but rough and merciless. Oma was less swollen than before, hard and eager and still beautifully responsive to the extra attention, and in no time at all he arched up and came with a cracked, raw little scream. Saihara swallowed it down, gently working at him as he squirmed and whined until Oma pushed him away with limp hands and went lax on the bed.

“Unnnnh,” he moaned, looking completely wrung out as Saihara gently extracted his fingers, swallowing down the last traces of bitterness left in his mouth.

“Hold on,” he said, already rolling to the edge of the bed. Oma stared vacantly at the ceiling as Saihara hurried to the room’s minifridge.

The minifridge had been set up awkwardly next to the St. Andrew’s cross. Its X-shaped arms extended imposingly over Saihara; he cast a nervous glance up at it, then considered the series of things he had just finished doing and gave it a second, more speculative look as he fetched a water bottle from the tiny refrigerator. “Please,” he said, offering the bottle to Oma.

He cast a look at it, seeming to gather his composure slightly, and allowed Saihara to take his hand and help him up to a sitting position. Saihara unscrewed the cap and gave him the bottle, examining his wrists around the padded cuffs and finding no bruises. Oma’s pale legs were unmarred by the tape. His chest looked like it could be sore, but nothing that would last. Nothing had harmed him.

 _Good,_ Saihara thought firmly. It was strange, however, to see Oma drinking quietly. There was something almost subdued about him as he let Saihara take the wrist of the hand not holding water. “Are you feeling okay?” Saihara asked, carefully unbuckling the cuff and sliding it over his hand.

“Yeah.” Oma switched the bottle to his other hand and took a long drink, allowing the other cuff to be removed. “It was good.” Maybe this was what Oma was like when not trying hard to show his cleverness, Saihara thought. Maybe he was exhausted.

“You were good,” Saihara told him a little nervously, rubbing at the wrist he had just freed. “Will you let me take care of you for a little while?”

“Saihara-chan’s gonna take care of me now?” Oma asked, lolling back on the pillows. “Nishishi...that sounds pretty legit. Who knew you were such a pro, huh?”

“I’m...definitely not,” Saihara protested, relieved to see him recovering. “But would you feel better if we cleaned you up a little?” Oma glanced down at his own body, the streaks drying on his chest and belly, and grinned.

“Yeah, why not? You’re the one who made me like this, so it makes sense for you to take responsibility.” Saihara smiled in relief at the joking tone in his voice, extending a hand to lift Oma from the bed. Oma grinned back, reaching out. “By the way, your humidifier’s in my room. Y’know, like I said the second time. In the top of the closet, behind your stupid ugly hats...which I also stole.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“Nishishi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time since I wrote PWP like this - weird how it brings me back to being shy about it. Thanks for reading.


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway - as long as I'm being self-indulgent, I'll also indulge in a little aftercare scene. [This](https://thejapans.files.wordpress.com/2014/05/p1060670-japanese-bathroom.jpg) is what a Japanese shower and tub look like (the tub is on the left). Shower first, then soak.

"Looks like we can wash up here after all, Saihara-chan!" Oma gleefully shrugged the rumpled uniform from his shoulders at the sight of the low stool and the showerhead on the wall for rinsing away shampoo and soap, a covered bathtub standing beside it for soaking. “I’m gonna go first.”

“You do need it more,” Saihara observed, carefully shucking off each piece of his own pristine uniform and folding them to set them aside. Oma trotted into the room and perched on the low stool, filling the small additional washtub beside it with water from the spigot. He sprayed his own hair with the showerhead until it hung soaked around his face, his slim body glimmering with droplets, the delicate ridges of his spine and shoulderblades visible in the soft white light of the bathroom.

“That’s got nothing to do with it, Saihara-chan. I go first 'cause as the supreme leader of evil, I don’t marinate in anyone else’s bathwater. The last guy who tried to bathe before me ended up bathing with the fishes, if you know what I mean.” He shot a terrifying glance over his shoulder at the approaching Saihara. “I mean his new job is cleaning fishtanks for all my headquarters around the globe, of course. It's _soooo_ demeaning. You gonna clean me up or not?”

“Ah...I did say I was going to.” Saihara knelt behind the bathing stool and poured a handful of shampoo into his palm, rubbing it lightly between his hands to warm and spread it out before lathering it into the soft violet strands of Oma’s hair. Oma tilted his head back into the massaging fingers caressing his scalp in circular motions, his shoulders going lax, tension bleeding out of his small frame to leave only a quiet, sated laxity. The long tendrils of his hair unspooled under the careful washing to hang in a soapy curtain. “Does this feel good?”

“Eh, whatever. I’m used to being served like this,” Oma said cheerfully, though a shiver ran down his back at the gentle pressure of fingers working up the nape of his neck into the lower part of his hair. As expected from the shadows it cast, his hair grew thick, the density of the shampoo increasing its depth. It stood out from his head in a soft, dark, sudsy mass down to his shoulders. “At least one hundred times now, people have fought nearly to the death for the right to bathe me. You should cherish this moment.”

“Ah, and I didn’t even have to fight anyone.” He pressed his fingers in a firm rolling motion against the base of Oma’s skull where it met his neck as he washed the sweat from the lower layer of his hair, feeling Oma's head loll back into the massage. It might even be possible to sculpt his hair into weird shapes, Saihara thought, and wondered if it was something he did when he was alone. It seemed exactly like something he would do. Ridiculous anime hairstyles, maybe. A big, soft puff like a clown's wig.

“Of course, when you have ten thousand people working under you, it’s hard to get alone time anywhere,” he mumbled as though reading Saihara’s mind, then let out an enormous yawn and leaned back into Saihara, eyes closing. “This is kinda...relaxing.”

“Hey,” Saihara protested as Oma’s shampoo-filled hair pressed thickly against his chest. “I can’t rinse it off like this.” Oma shifted and let out an exaggerated snore. “Stop that…” He sighed and groped for the soap and cloth, soaking it in the small washbasin and scrubbing the soap over it to form a thick lather.

“Ah!” Oma twitched at the wet splat of the washcloth against his chest. “How rude. I’m gonna…” He yawned again, rubbing at his eye with one hand. “Gonna exile you to Kowloon Walled City for disturbing my rest, Saihara-chan.”

“Wasn’t that demolished decades ago?” Oma reluctantly took the washcloth and scrubbed idly at his body while Saihara massaged his scalp and neck in gentle, even motions. The methodical way he soaped his limbs and washed the streaks from his chest and belly was entrancing, thought Saihara. There was something almost nonsexual about the sight of him calmly, relaxedly bathing, something peaceful about the sight of his self-care, and being allowed to take care of him made Saihara feel warm in a way completely separate from the thick steam of the shower room. Before long he let the cloth slip back into the washbasin and slumped again, forward this time, letting out a long sigh.

“Yeah...there’s a long story behind that.”

“Mm?” Saihara stood up, wincing as his knees straightened out, and fetched the showerhead from the wall.

“It only existed under the auspices of my power, y’know. But in order to quell a potential uprising in my organization, I had to be in a one-thousand person game of Werewolf held at a resort in Monaco. Just me and nine of my trusted lieutenants,” he clarified, “against the enemy faction, or people who _could_ be in the enemy faction. No one else could be trusted.” Saihara turned on the showerhead, tested the spray of water against his own arm. “So in the end I emerged victorious, since I was able to defeat everyone who was out to overthrow me, but while my attention was elsewhere…” Oma sighed, closing his eyes before Saihara began to rinse the suds from his hair. “Kowloon Walled City was annihilated by the authorities. And that’s why I’ll never set foot in Hong Kong again,” he concluded through the wall of water soaking his hair. It deflated under the warm spray, the shampoo rinsing out in bubbly streams. “Ever!”

“That would make you pretty old, wouldn't it?” Saihara asked wryly, training the spray of water on his hair with one hand and rubbing at his scalp with the other to get all the soap out of the thick strands. The suds spiraled toward the drain. There was something hypnotic about the actions of washing, of massaging, of placing the showerhead on the floor and soaping his palms, crouching down to grind the heels of his hands into the backs of Oma’s narrow shoulders. “Or you’re lying.”

“Oopsie, looks like Mister Detective is still on the case. You caught me, it was a lie! Or was it?” He grunted and leaned back into the pressure, sighing again as Saihara worked down the fine musculature of his back, massaging away the tension of being bound with his hands behind him. “I’m really five hundred years old!” he chirped in an unsettlingly-pitched voice. “I just look like this, is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No! Ah, no. Definitely not.” Saihara grimaced and picked the showerhead back up, spraying away the soap. “There.” He looked down at Oma, perched on the low stool, his hair a wet curtain around his rosy face. “Did you want to soak?”

“Yeah, of course. Is the bath really ready?” He extended his arms upward; Saihara grasped his wrists and pulled him up, then folded back the cover on the steaming tub to reveal the scented water inside. “It is? Did you fill it up ahead of time for me?” he asked in obvious fascination.

“...Yeah,” he mumbled, glancing away toward the wall. By the time he looked back, Oma was already halfway into the tub, sinking into the water with a long sigh of apparent delight.

“You knew you were gonna make a mess of me all along, huh?” he chirped in the same unsettling voice, peering over the edge of the tub with sparkling eyes. “You knew you were gonna torture my poor dick?”

“Stop _doing_ that!” Saihara protested, sitting on the stool to hastily soap himself and scrub shampoo through his own hair. The air hung heavy with some citrusy aroma.

He had no idea what scent was in the bath - the controls for the bath had been labyrinthine, all he could do to figure out the correct buttons for filling it and keeping it at a constant temperature. It was probably yuzu, he thought, or lemon. He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye at Oma watching him bathe, still peering over the side of the tub. “C’mere,” Oma coaxed, grinning creepily over the edge.

“Uh, when you say it like that…” Saihara reached out for the showerhead to rinse himself almost as an afterthought.

“Saihara-chan’s gonna soak too, right?” he whispered. Saihara glanced over and flinched to see his eyes, round and terrifying, glaring over the edge of the tub like a monster’s.

“This is the worst,” he informed Oma, who brightened at once.

“Nishishi! Now you know how scared I was, being at Saihara-chan’s mercy. I can’t believe what you did to my poor nipples,” he sighed, eyebrows lowering as though the memory caused him pain. “Mm, they’ll be sore tomorrow. Now every time my uniform rubs on them I’ll remember what you did…”

“How will you feel when you remember it?” Saihara asked, standing up from the stool and replacing the showerhead on the wall.

“Eh? How uncharacteristically blunt! Is Mister Detective getting used to interrogating me now?” Oma asked, shifting forward in the tub to give him space. He squirmed in behind Oma, spreading his legs to either side to accommodate his petite frame. "Eh, looks like you caught me again, huh? What are you gonna do now?"

“That wasn’t really an answer,” Saihara noted. Oma’s hair unspooled further in the water, a soft violet cloud around his narrow shoulders, and his warm, solid body nestled perfectly against Saihara’s when he reached forward to pull him back. It was strange to hold him like that - Oma’s nature was to be energetic, tense with excitement, never motionless. Saihara had never felt him so relaxed.

He pressed his fingertips gently into Oma’s temples, rubbing in a circular motion, feeling his body go lax with pleasure. His arms rested limp in the water, his eyes half-closed in satisfaction as Saihara moved down and back to the areas behind his ears. For a long moment he buried his own face in Oma’s clean hair to inhale the warm scent, the solid form of him unharmed, hydrated, clean, safe. “Well?” Saihara prompted. Oma, half-dozing, blinked and shifted as though to get closer.

“Mm? I had fun,” he murmured, and slowly closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record...[Kowloon Walled City](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kowloon_Walled_City) was demolished in 1993.
> 
> This story now has a [sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756858).


End file.
